


Sable Coils

by Fatty Batty (Sephi902)



Series: Monsters in the Bed [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Bisexual Female Character, Bisexual Lead, Biting, Blood Kink, Demon Sex, Demon Summoning, Erotica, F/M, Light Bondage, Magic, Monster porn, Monsters, NSFW, Original Character(s), Original Demon Species, Original Fiction, Original Story - Freeform, Original Wiccan Characters, POV Original Female Character, Summoning, Teeth, Tentacles, Teratophilia, Vaginal Sex, Witchcraft, Witches, incubus, monster smut, short threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:33:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27949871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sephi902/pseuds/Fatty%20Batty
Summary: An excerpt of my novel. Now available for preorder. Coming soon 03/20/21Witches, Monster hunters, and... a bound demon?Giselle inherits a lovely cottage after her mother vanishes suddenly. While a bit run down, it's way better than her old apartment. She moves in immediately and, just as quickly, weird things start happening. She has to get Valus out of her house, but she isn't strong enough to break him through on her own.Will the coven teach her their ways? Will she learn about her mysterious missing mother?Will she admit she wants Valus to stay?
Relationships: OC/OC, Original Characters - Relationship, Original Monster character/ Original Female Characters, Valus/Giselle
Series: Monsters in the Bed [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2046893
Comments: 5
Kudos: 4





	1. Chapter 1

Giselle watches the honey-lit countryside crawl through the passenger window, resting her chin on her hand. The wind was whipping their hair as they sailed down the road. Leoni drives faster than needed due to the lack of drivers around her. A cigarette glowing in her fingers, smoke billowing from her painted lips. Morning grogginess takes Giselle’s attention from the sea of grass and flowers to a lulling, lingering sleep.

Leoni taps Giselle’s arm, startling her awake, “Don’t sleep while I drive, it’s not fair.” Giselle squints with a half-hearted whine, stretching, yawning, and straightening in her seat.

“Quiet makes me sleepy… How far out is it anyway?” She asks as she digs through her faded tote for a bottle of coffee. Leoni turns attention to the glint of metal a moment before turning her eyes back to the road ahead and blowing a lung of smoke out the window.

“We’re about there. Can’t wait to see your reaction to this place.” Leoni smirks, rounding a bend into a small village partially surrounded by fields, the other end blocked by a thick dark forest. Giselle knew she’d love the feel of this place just by looking at it.

Giselle studies the shops as they pass, smiling faintly at the bustling bakery and the lovable cafe filled with cozy small-town people well acquainted. Leoni ashes her cigarette in the cup holder ashtray and pulls up to a large, faded slate cottage placed squarely in front of the looming woods.

The pair exited the car, Giselle slinging her tote over her shoulder and looking up the cobblestone path to the front doorsteps while Leoni continues ahead without her. Her thin, black sweater barely held off the valley chill blowing through the grass and up her spine. She follows shortly after to escape the morning bite.

Leoni digs through her pockets while Giselle grazes her fingers over the splintering wooden door, frowning at the tattered oak. She pulls a chip of paint off the door and softly chuckles to herself.

“Definitely a “fixer-upper”.” Giselle rises as she speaks, tossing the paint chip over her shoulder. Leoni nods, taking a key and a pack of cigarettes from her pocket. She sticks the key in the door and pushes it open, both women’s hair billowing as a gust of musty air flies past their faces.

“Oh, lovely…” Giselle crinkles her nose and sags her shoulders.

“This place is pretty ancient.” Leoni agrees, the faint light from her cigarette illuminating her lips as a wisp of smoke escapes. Giselle carefully wanders into the foyer, wiping a light layer of dust off the banister leading upstairs, gazing up at the dappled hallway above as dust gently dances in the air.

“I’ll put together a list of contractors for help fixing up the place,” Leoni’s cloud of smoke joins the dust as she speaks. Giselle nods in thanks, wiping her finger off on her sweater. “As for the other items,” she takes a folder out of her briefcase and scans it quickly, “you’ll need to take care of those yourself.” She hands Giselle four handwritten letters in different colors, each with more urgent writing than the last.

Giselle raises a brow at the chicken scratch sprawled all over the final, salmon paper. She couldn’t glean a thing off of it. Pulling her glasses from her pocket, she placed them on her nose and took another look at the letters. The scribbles still didn’t make much sense. She folds the final pages and pockets them with a sigh, twirling her glasses between her fingers.

“I’m sure that’ll be interesting.” She huffs under breath. Leoni nods and turns to leave.

“Call if you need me. Otherwise, you know where I’ll be.” She waves as she leaves pulling her keys from her pocket, the door closing behind her. Giselle glances at the remaining letters, shuffling through them once more before tossing them on the table. She needs to fill some time while she waits for the moving truck to arrive.

She hums, wandering up to the second floor and looking into the rooms. The floors were about as dirty as the air, the windows opaque with dust. Giselle grimaces and groans softly, arms already aching at the thought of all the cleaning she had to do. She purses her lips and trots down the stairs, nabbing her bag before speeding out the door.

* * *

Giselle walks into the waking village not far from her new home. A small bookstore caught her eye, attention moving to the family boutique with the beautiful dresses in the windows. The smell of the bakery dances in the air and smothers the natural scent, filling her senses and carrying her to the open arms of a warm building. She presses up to the glass and peers hungrily down on the many fresh pastries beyond her grasp.

Before she could finish deciding which pastry looked best, laughter erupts beside the building. She pulls back from the glass. A group of women leaves the salon, a bell ringing behind them, laughing joyfully. Giselle pauses, pulling her hands off the bakery glass as she peers inside the salon, surprised to see the large number of women chatting inside, ages ranging from teen to ancient.

Giselle hesitates, her feet refusing to carry her without a treat. She pushes herself to swing the door open and join them.

The salon quiets the second the unfamiliar face steps through the threshold. Taking a single beat before continuing their chatter as if nothing happened. Giselle looks over the floor, unoccupied chairs rarely breaking the uniform lines of business.

“Can I help you, dear?” An older woman asks as she approaches the counter. Giselle gives a faint smile and nods slightly.

“Yeah, I uh… thought I could use a styling.” She says as she watches another group of three leaves at the same time. The small elder taps away at the keyboard, a quiet jingle sounding.

“New home, new do.” She titters sweetly. Giselle resists the powerful urge to pinch the woman’s cheeks, nodding and returning the giggle.

“Something like that,” she pauses, “wait, how did you-?”

“New faces are rare here. Everyone knows everyone else in small towns like this.” The old woman explains with a wave of her hand, beckoning Giselle to follow her to a chair. Giselle has to force her feet to follow, picking nervously at her coat button.

She sits down in front of a mirror and wraps herself in the cloth. Before she could request a trim, she was spun around and laid back for a full treatment. She stays silent, somewhat stunned.

“What brings you to Grimsel?” The lady hums, massaging shampoo into messy brown tangles.

“I moved over here. After… I was given the house.” Giselle drops her voice slightly, shrugging and closing her eyes without another word. Silence lingered between them. The elder pat Giselle’s forehead.

“Welcome to your new home,” She offers, a hopeful smile pricking her lips, face wrinkling with the motion, “We’re glad to have you here.”

“...Thanks. I’m Giselle.”

“You can just call me Irmela.” She replies. Giselle rolls her shoulders, relaxing with generous success. The elder’s grin could drown Giselle in sweetness. Her delicate, ancient fingers graze Giselle’s scalp in long, free-flowing strokes. Her mind went blank, every worry and fear pulling back to be momentarily forgotten.

Water cascading over her hair rouses her from a state of silent zen. Irmela combs through the locks while they rinse, tugging at knots and keeping Giselle from returning to the sweet nothing. She blows a sharp breath and fiddles with the folded paper in her pocket.

The rest of the styling goes smoothly, Giselle barely moves and Irmela works quickly with comb and gel in hand. Her hair now wavy and reaching her shoulders, her bangs cresting over her eye and framing her face.

“Wow... Amazing, Irmela,” Giselle muses as she toys with the details, “What do I owe you?”

“We can discuss that at the front counter. Come along.” She waves her to the front end of the room. Giselle lingers at the mirror getting the arched bangs pinned out of her vision before following her. Irmela taps away at a computer nearly as old as she is while adjusting the thick glasses on the bridge of her nose.

Giselle spies a bowl of suckers on the counter next to the computer. Her eyes widen slightly, a sparkle of immaturity fighting her for control. She glances at Irmela and snakes her arm around the chunky screen to snatch a handful of candy. With a small smirk and a triumphant hum, she picks through the flavors, puts a cherry sucker in her teeth, and pockets the rest.

“There we are. I would also like to invite you to a town gathering. I think It’ll be a great chance for you to meet the rest of the village.” Irmela says, taking a flyer from the drawer and handing it to Giselle. Giselle looks it over, the lacking design and limited information left much to be desired. She slants her mouth and tilts her head, rolling the sucker in her teeth with a hum.

Town Meeting - Nov. 20th

(20:00 - 22:00)

Materials provided.

Moon Phase - Waxing Gibbous

“I guess I could come. Is there anything else I should know? Like, is there food involved? Just so you know, I’m allergic to soy.” Giselle offers, lilted in her confusion. Irmela shakes her head and waves away her concern.

“Oh, no worries there. Just some animals. I hope you have no issues with felines, reptiles, or birds.” Irmela titters at her own humor. Giselle offers a half-hearted snicker, but the state of her invitation was beginning to throw her off. She shakes it off and takes her wallet out of her messenger bag. Giselle quickly pays and leaves the salon, hiking her bag over her shoulder and walking the strip back home.


	2. Chapter 2

Giselle’s boxes were finally dropped off by the time she got home. She took them inside and set them in the foyer, placing her bag on the kitchen table and combing through her pampered hair. The smooth, cedar waves caressed her fingers as they pulled through with no hitch. She sighs with a low purr and looks over the boxes. She fights with the lazy little gremlin in her mind whether she should unpack immediately or do it in the morning. It’s a close fight, but she decides it would be best to unpack before turning in, cracking open the boxes. Everything packed is wrapped carefully in newspapers and bubble wrap. Giselle makes a short groan and dives in.

Vases were the first to be set out. Fragile but empty of purpose yet. At the top of the overfull boxes to ensure they stayed intact.

Next were the necessities. Dishes and silverware. Simply put away.

After, her books and bookcase. A chore to put together and fill, but she was glad to see all her favorite titles. A nice, familiar assortment.

Last were the pictures of her family. Her father and siblings grinning wide to be remembered. Giselle frowns and hangs the last one on her wall. Out of all her photos, there were only two of her late mother. She stares at the two photos in silence. Her hand trembles into a small fist pressed against her thigh.

A chill runs up her spine, the breeze carrying dust with it upstairs. Giselle brushes her hand off on her jeans and lets out a small curious hum. She holds the banister as she ascends the steps.

“There must be a window open around here.” She decides as she peeks into the 2nd-floor rooms. Dirty just as they were left, dust everywhere the sun touched. She holds her nose to fight back a building sneeze, moving faster between doors and testing each window.

Giselle throws the final door open and sneezes so hard her body resets. Once her brain stops swimming, she straightens and steps into the room. A fully furnished bedroom. It was nearly immaculate. She pauses and drags a finger on the dresser beside the door. No dust.

Giselle wanders further into the room. The walls were covered in dark wallpaper, the carpet was soft under her feet. The furniture all seemed antique. The canopy bed, the vanity, the several dressers, it was all far more expensive looking for her taste. She places her hand on the canopy pole.

“Huh…? Did I sneeze through time?” She laughs softly. She scans the walls again and shrugs, turning to leave, “well, no windows.” Just as she finished, another chill made its way between her shoulders. She shudders and purses her lips, glaring behind her at everything. She spies a door left of the bed. Closed and with an audible breeze.

Giselle stares at it for a few seconds. She shakes her head and closes the bedroom door behind her.

“No.”

Empty boxes rest in a high pile in the shed behind the cottage. Giselle tosses the last box in and slams the door shut, swiping her hands together with a smug grin. She unrolls her jacket sleeves and buttons it at the waist as she returns to her, now furnished, home. Her glasses slip on her nose a bit and she pushes them back into place. A shape in the hall catches her eye, immediately turning to see it. Giselle squints suspiciously at the hall in silence.

“Annoying bugger…” She huffs to herself. A quiet jingle fills the air giving Giselle a slight startle. She pulls her phone from her back pocket and lights it up, checking the calendar for whatever needed her attention. Her eyes widen at the small note.

Town Meeting, 20-22. “Might be interesting?”

Giselle hums as she checks the clock and puts her phone away. Some time remains to dress and freshen up. She climbs to the second floor and wanders with little care to her bedroom. She glances at the drafty room as she passes it in the hallway, giving it a heavy, annoyed huff. The shadows source, she assumes. And she chooses to blame it for her restless week. Giselle takes her bag from her closet and slings it over her shoulder.

“I wonder if they know anything about this house.” She mutters as she closes the door behind her.

She passes through the empty town. The stores all locked up for the night, stars glittering in peppered galaxies overhead, a single building up the hill illuminated with lanterns. Giselle gulps and stands at the foot of the hill, gripping her sleeves with sweat creeping down her forehead.

‘I guess that is my destination.’ She swallows the lump in her throat and forces her feet to continue. As she comes closer, she notices the strange markings on the door. Three moons made of intricately carved wood hung over the door, a star made of twigs and flowers in the center of the door itself. Giselle knocks, but her eyes remain on the ornaments with a curious slant.

“Welcome, Giselle! I’m so glad you decided to join us.” Irmela wraps her arms around Giselle and gladly ushers her into the candle-lit building. Giselle laughs with a nervous hint and follows the elder’s direction.

“Yeah, I-” She couldn’t get the words out before she was surrounded by several other women who all wore dark robes with different colored undersides. Giselle presses her lips into a single line and flickers her eyes over all their get-ups. All thoughts left her mind momentarily, “-uh… what?”

Irmela pushes a lock of ashy gray hair behind her ear and offers a seat to Giselle. With the ring of candles, she can see the woman’s cloak is far different from the crowd’s. Black on the inside and silvery velvet on the outside. Giselle feels the need to spit her question before she loses the drive to speak again.

“I-I uh… I’m wondering if you know anything about the cottage? It’s kinda drafty but the room it comes from has no windows.” She stumbles, sitting and locking her back as straight as a ruler. Irmela smirks, the dancing flames making her look horribly intense. Giselle shrinks into the chair a little.

“Is that so? Your mother complained of a similar issue.” Irmela starts, taking a bundle of dried herbs from the table behind her. Giselle could only see her violet eyes at this distance. She furrowed her brow, ‘were they always… purple?’

“I have a question for you,” Irmela burns the bundle and waves its smoking end through the air, “did you read the letters?” The question leaves Giselle stunned. She shakes her head without saying a word. Her hand digs into her pocket, but the letters were left at home. Irmela smiles. One of the women comes through the room with a hot teapot and pours everyone a small cup of fragrant tea.

“Allow me to tell you something about the cottage,” she sips from her porcelain teacup, “and our coven.”


	3. Chapter 3

“Coven. You’re telling me you all are witches?” Giselle assumes, unamused as she lurches to her feet, “you have to be kidding. Like magic and broomsticks?” She waves her hands over the room and scoffs, “where are the black cats and goats?” Giselle laughs, looking for any of the women to understand. The room remains chillingly silent. Giselle goes quiet. Irmela raises a brow, entirely unamused.

“So you’re serious?”

“Yes. And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mock us.” Irmela says, cold and annoyed. Giselle lowers her head but tightens her jaw while grimacing at the floor. Irmela clears her throat and sits Giselle back down. The seats around her fill in as the elder takes the smudge sticks and spreads the smoke throughout the room. Once the air is heavy and thick, she claps her hands together and smiles.

“Now, before we begin our ritual, is everyone here? Look upon your sisters and let me know.” Irmela says. The women speak softly with each other, using this moment to exchange greetings and quick news. How are the kids? How was vacation? Lose a crystal? Replace a wand? Questions of the like buzz in the instance of comfort. Giselle sits askew. Her body is tight and on edge, waiting for whatever might happen out of curiosity if anything.

“Good. We’ll shake a leg through the initiation,” Irmela clears her throat, “my sisters, though I bring many souls who wish to know of our coven, this is an outlying instance. This one is from a long line of witches.”

Giselle sighs, relief releasing her shoulders. Whoever this heir in the _lineage_ was would distract them from the ugly duckling. At least for a while. Though a small hint of curiosity drew her gaze over the group. Who else was dragged to this meeting? As a young person from some long line, would they already be in the strange robes with their wand in hand and some dark animal at their side? Giselle could only wonder what creature the more adept witch would take as their familiar. Are bears allowed?

“Giselle, dear, are you listening?”

Giselle looks up from her thoughts and feels everyone’s eyes on her body. She freezes, moving slowly to meet Irmela’s eyes.

“I… I wasn’t.” She admits. Irmela scoffs and raises her arms in showy flair, the sleeves of her robe swinging in the air like the wings of a great bird. She begins her monologue again, this time keeping an eye on Giselle to ensure she was listening.

“While the blood of witches already flows in yours and we have little to unleash within you, we offer you a seat among us. Would you join us in the Coven of the Silver Birch?” Irmela asks, holding a hand out to her. Giselle stares at her hand. She stands and turns to the door. The sisters call after her but she doesn’t halt, stepping out the door and shutting it behind her.

* * *

Giselle presses her back against the door of her home with her hands behind her on the rough, worn wood. Her muscles relaxed, her head began to swim with so many questions. She slides into her kitchen chair and holds her head. Giselle glances up the table at a small pile of paper. The letters, jumbled and out of order, remain with their contents spilled. She pauses a moment and takes the top letter.

“When did I open these?” She wonders aloud. The writing was curled and stable, flowing elegantly across the paper. She rests her cheek on her hand and looks through it. Addressed to her by her mother.

 _“Dear Ella,”_ Giselle rolls her eyes at the nickname, _“I hope it wasn’t too sudden and that you keep the cottage. It’s very special to me.”_ She glances at the kitchen around her. That may well be true. The building was relatively well kept before she got there. Giselle turns to the stairs and recalls the pristine room. Her bedroom, possibly. She decided it was better she made her room one of the spare ones. _“I urge you to read the journals in the basement. To experiment with the materials I left you. Please, learn about the magic in your veins.”_ Giselle groans and pinches the bridge of her nose. That again. Magic. She slowly shakes her head and looks at the basement door. There was no point in seeing the materials, she wants no part in this madness. She pushes the letter aside and stands, quickly turning to the garden.

“I should start the garden.” She mutters, ignoring the call to the altar. She steps carefully over the stone garden path. The dead plants and weeds string between the dry dirt patches. The shed door hangs open, did she leave it open before she left? Giselle shakes the question away, obviously, she must have.

“Can’t sell flowers you don’t grow.” She sighs, taking the spade from the hook and watering can from the table. She works a patch of empty dirt, somehow free of the weeds that plagued the rest of the yard. Odd. Her spade flips the dirt and her hand gently places the lily seeds to rest. With ease, she tilts the watering can and douses the small plot. She kneels by a freshly watered patch with small divots. Her new seeds rest lovingly in the darkened dirt. She swiftly leaves for bed, the night far past its apex.

* * *

Sleep was too difficult to fall into.

Instead, Giselle found herself in front of the basement door. She hesitantly grips the knob and pushes it open.

“Just peeking at the journals,” She mutters to herself. That pesky breeze sweeps through the house and tosses her brunette curls over her shoulder. She swears she heard a whisper in the wind. _Go on._

Giselle descends the stairs.

The cool air swirls around her, never leaving her side. She sees the oak desk with books and paper littered all over it. She recognizes the letterhead, the same one her mother used in her letters to her. Giselle picks a leather-bound grimoire off the pile. Its cover is decorated with a silver set of 3 moons, just like the ones from the coven building. She opens it to the marked page, the cool wind billowing over her shoulder with increasing intensity. She wonders, is that normal? Do witches deal with nature peeking over their shoulder so constantly? It’s been going on since she settled in. The spell listed on the page was vague and hard to read. The words were rewritten hundreds of times. Burns and stains mark the parchment.

 _Vanilla and rose, red candles, salt, some… weird phrases and a drawing?_ Giselle turns and twists the journal, but the design made no sense. She had no idea what it could mean. Nor could she decipher the strange language repeated around the drawing. A prick of guilt jabs at her neck. It was her mother’s last wish, she felt somewhat obligated to practice at least one spell.

Giselle hums, sure she could gather the materials she could understand from the page. She tucks the book under her arm and hurries up the stairs. The wind remains behind, the whispers echoing after her.

_Finish the ritual…_


	4. Chapter 4

_~I open my eyes to find I’m in my bedroom. The room is warm, nice, and toasty. A welcome change from the chilly nights in the cottage. The room is dark save for a candle beside me glowing. Its blue flame flickers as I look at it. I can almost feel something’s presence in the room. I see something step into the light but I can’t make it out. I hear a whisper._

_“I’m waiting…”~_

Her dream that night. Giselle normally never bothered to remember them, never had the need to. This one wouldn’t shake from her mind. She stares at the journal on the table as she eats her small breakfast. She pulls it over to her and flips it open. A title page informs her the journal is a Book of Shadows. The name on the margin is her mother’s with some weird nickname scribbled beside it. Giselle tilts her head.

“I’ve never heard anyone call her that.” She hums, turning the page to the rewritten notes. She learned there were stores of herbs and flowers packed in the kitchen and basement respectively. Those stores were marked constantly with tallies and eraser scuffs. She continues through the pages.

The simple spells were named but not detailed, some spells had replacements written down but the rest was left out. The final spell, the only one detailed, was the ritual Giselle was tasked with finishing. Simply titled “Summon”. Giselle moves her emptied plate out of the way and holds the journal in one hand. She glides to the pantry and looks in on her scarce supplies. In the back of the pantry was a stack of vanilla beans in tied-up bundles. What remained of her mother’s stockpile, she assumes. The cool air graces her shoulder like a hand urging her to go on. Giselle takes a bundle and closes the pantry door, staring at it and the book in her hand.

 _If this works, if magic… I’ll consider joining the coven. And if it’s fake I’ll just put all her stuff in storage._ She makes a deal with herself. Salt from the table catches her attention, taking it quickly and going to each of the entrances to her home. She recalls the salt step from movies, pouring a line across each outside doorway. She checks the spell for the next item and trails downstairs to put everything together. Her brow dews with sweat, she’s a bit excited to perform her first - and possibly only - ritual.

* * *

Giselle sits in the basement and paints a big circle on the floor. Within the circle, she attempts to copy the symbol. A box with an arrow dragging down to a point, two S’s connecting to the sides of the arrow, a V hit the top of the circle and break through the box. She burns the flowers and vanilla and puts them beside the half-burnt scented candles.

The ritual didn’t follow every step, skipping a good deal of them. The moon cycle, the colors of the candles, the… uniform. She pushes the journal aside and recites the words she can remember.

“Spirit of the vine, servant of… flesh. I… uh…” Giselle opens the journal and nods, “ego tidbit, uh, cunta cymbal!”

Nothing. She purses her lips and looks at the paper again.

“Oh, ego tibi cuncta quaero simul!”

The room turns cold and the fires are blown out. Giselle stiffens and scoots away from the circle. Goosebumps erupt over her skin. A shimmer flickers from the sigil. It grows until a small glimmering hole peels the stone floor and opens to a plane beyond. After a beat of silence, tendrils black as the night grip the sides of the portal, writhing as they break out and lash at the air. Giselle yelps and pulls away, standing quickly.

“Oh my god…” She gasps, pressing against the bookshelf beside the mahogany desk. The tendrils whip and grasp at the air, inching closer to her legs with a dangerous drive. Giselle had nowhere else to run. Nowhere to crawl. She was trapped. The flailing tendrils coil around her legs and tighten their holds, dragging her closer to the portal. Giselle drags her nails on the concrete and yelps.

“W-wait, please!” Her cries fizzle in the air with no ears to catch them. The coils slither up her legs and prod at her stomach. She tries to fight them off, tearing them off as they hook on her jeans and attempt to loosen them. Another yelp escapes her as the tendrils grip her wrists tightly and restrain her arms at her sides. Shivers run up her spine as the tendrils slip under her shirt and trail her skin with a gentle, feathery touch. A blush dusts her cheeks.

“Frisky little things…” Giselle mutters, squirming as the tentacles begin to tug at her tank top. Her shirt is tossed onto the floor beside her, bra dangling on her arms. They grasp at her breasts. Squeezing and tugging. She bites her lip to keep quiet. Her struggles subside. She did summon it, after all, maybe this was what it was meant to do. Giselle’s breath hastens as she slowly lays back on the floor with a hesitant mew. The tendrils overtake her, grasping and groping at everything they can get a hold of. Her jeans are finally slipped from her legs and set aside with the tank top. The tender tentacles wrap around her waist and lift her off the ground ever so slightly. She lets out a small moan as the tendrils grace her folds at an achingly slow pace. They test her slit. Press her clit. She gasps slightly and instinctively presses her thighs together.

The tendrils hesitate, a whisper on the air graces her ears with the sound of amused laughter. Coils wrap her thighs and urge them to open once more. Legs restrained, the coils tease her moistened opening. Giselle whines softly with weak struggles. The tendril pierces her, sliding into her chasm with a quick and sudden thrust. She arches her back and pulls against the coils at her wrists. The tentacle pushes deeper, filling her chasm to the brim before retreating and slamming back inside her. Giselle couldn’t hold back her cries anymore. She moans and relaxes. Her legs twitched and tensed, her chest heaving with hitching breaths. The tentacles kept her comfortable, her back touching the ground once again as she was laid down with tendrils cushioning her head. She was held open with the writhing limbs thrusting in and out of her core.

Giselle grips the tendrils tightly and shudders, the slimy things stuffing her body without a thought. They pressed against her clit and jabbed her deepest reaches in the most sensitive spots. Her mind was drawing a blank. She couldn’t think, couldn’t process the situation she was in. She pants and searches for her thoughts. Nothing came, but she was getting close to it. They tighten hold on her chest and flick her hardened nipples. The tiny stimulating pricks of pain drew her closer to her apex. Giselle’s legs struggle against the restraints as they begin to convulse. The tendrils allow her to throw her arms overhead and claw at the stone as waves of warmth crash through her. She wished she knew what to call these things, not like she could really process words right now.

Slowly, the tendrils release her and pull away. Giselle was left panting on the floor as the limbs retreat into the closing portal. She stares at the ceiling as she regains her mind.

“I… uh… what?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can preorder the ebook here! https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1057716
> 
> Print versions will be released day of 03/20/21


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